Deterioration Of The Heart
by Kitten's Claws
Summary: A non-Animorph reflects on their feelings for someone that will never return them. Short. Sad. Bring tissues. Read.


I wrote this awhile ago and I just got the courage to post it. Well, actually, it's because my brother said that 'it's damn good and you'd better post it. Or I'm going to kick your @$$'. X_x Stupid. Anyway, this incorporates with all of my theories from my other Animorphs story, "Metallic Emotions". Just so no one gets confused.  
  
Now read!  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Deterioration of The Heart  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
What is love? Some of us have figured it out, but by then it was already too late. They'd fallen for the person they loved, and stayed with them, becoming more and more human, slipping away from the rest of us. Pretending they were human, just for the love of the the one they had come to care for. And... what was the human term? Oh yes, committing suicide, so to speak, because they couldn't live without their human once he or she died.  
  
I thought it would never happen to me. I haven't had to commit suicide yet because he's still alive. He hasn't died yet, so neither have I. I suppose I never really knew that I loved him until, tired of sneaking up on me, love pounced and sent me reeling. It took me a while to come to terms with it, because I had never experienced love before. I loved the Earth, sure, but I never really loved anyone or anything in that way.  
  
But now I do.  
  
And it's so hard for me to accept one simple fact: He could never love me, because he knows who... what I am. And no human would ever love any of my kind if they were able to see our true selves. Never.  
  
That's why every other one of my kind pretended to be human, if they fell in love. But I can't, because he knows. So I suppose I'll just have to live with the fact that he could never love me, and commit suicide when he dies, because I can't live without him. Even if he doesn't return my feelings, I can't live without my life: him.  
  
I suppose whoever's reading this now will wonder why I'm writing it down on a primitive pice of human paper with one of their primitive writing utensials. I don't really know myself; my only guess is so that I can feel closer to human, closer to him.  
  
I know, I've... got it bad, as the humans say.  
  
Whoever's reading this is most likely also wondering who I'm talking about. I'll give you some hints: He's one of the Animorphs. There's only three males in their little group: Marco, Jake and Tobias. It shouldn't really be hard to figure out, should it?  
  
No. It's really quite obvious, when you think about it.  
  
I do love him, though. My kind can only really love one person in that way. So it hurts so much to see them die. They may live forty, fifty, even sixty years with us, but that passes like the blink of an eye for me. For us.  
  
I've only know him for two years, and that's like a second to me. And it hurts me not to be able to help him when he's hurt. When he's dying. When the Chee take his place when the Animorphs go of on a dangerous mission, I wonder "Is he ever going to come back? And if he doesn't... how long will I be able to live?"  
  
With each passing day, the Yeerks become harder to beat. I fear that he will die soon. Or worse, he'll become infested. I would rather him die. Dying free, in my opinion and all of theirs, is better than living enslaved.  
  
But I'd give anything to pull him out of the fight. Anything. I'd give my own life for his, my own soul. I'd do anything.  
  
But there's nothing I can do.  
  
I think I've talked quite enough about my feelings for now. I'm leaving now, because I have some information that may help them.  
  
Help them get killed.  
  
Ironic, isn't it? I want to help him, I want him to live, but I give them information that will make them go off on some other dangerous mission that could get them... him... killed.  
  
And we call ourselves pacifists.  
  
But I will always love you, Marco of the Animorphs.  
  
Deterioration of the heart.  
  
  
  
  
  
- Erek King  
  
- Saturday, March 15th, 3:42pm  
  
- Kitchen  
  
- Paper and pencil 


End file.
